Has anyone ever asked you that? I vividly remember the day someone asked me “what’s your story” and I just stared at them not sure how to respond. I remember not digging to deep and sheepishly answering “Well I’m 27 and a single mother of two kids”. She looked at me oddly and said is that it?
I think about that day 6 years later and wonder if she really wanted to know “my story”. My journey to that night where I was downing vodka, flirting with whoever I wanted, and likely ended up passed out or blacked out somewhere. Just another weekend. Did I look like, act like, resemble someone who had a story.
How did I get here? A place where from the exterior my life is moving along and may even look ideal to some. I wake up, show up, try to look my best, put my best foot forward, try not to complain, and put a beautiful shade of lipstick over my lips and keep it moving. I build and build and take some down and then remove a couple more…. bricks have always been apart of my story. I’m on a rollercoaster. I try to look up and often catch myself looking down.
My story. Sexual abuse, domestic violence, rape, abandonment. Their story. Two kids, no father, abandoned.
Pull up a chair… Let me tell you a story about how and why I’m here, standing up, fighting to look up, and not wanting to give up.